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THE BLACK CHILD

He has dreams, built on hopes and hard work,
He is that special child, cant you find him?
Look closely among the children and there he is.
He is always going to be a special black child

Who knows what he wants and how to get it.
He is that Nigerian child who dares to dream and confronts his fears with a bold step

He believes he will experience the storm but after that comes calm.

He will see the rain but he has two choices, he will dance in it or he will wait for the sun.

He will feel pain but happiness isn’t far.

He will be patient and face war because victory is at the other side.

He believes in the light at the end of the tunnel.

How could he not shine among his peers, isn’t he a star?

His determination, esteem and intelligence catches others in awe,

His confidence is outstanding.

He isn’t deterred or intimidated by the shade of his skin

For he sees greatness were others find weakness.

He does not underestimate the power of his hands and holds strongly to “no bread for the lazy man”

He is that child who believes in the philosophy of “not all that glitters is gold”

He knows in his heart that even from ashes something good can spring up.

Oh, even the lump of clay who went through a whole lot to become a teacup can tell the story better.
He prowls through lanes in search of freedom
And believes that not only bread nourishes man, peace of mind does it better.

He is so focused,
So determined,
So little,
So adorable in his thoughts,

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Our Country! Our Pride!

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Pearly teeth, beautiful eyes, superb afro, fist sized breasts, unbelievable waist, not so wide a hip, a perfect curve of a rump that could pass for a Guinness Book of Records contender, and above all of these; a beautiful mind with the sweetest demeanor. Well, that was until fourteen months ago. He had done the right thing, he had married his queen. He loved how she still decked herself in her finery, her denim pants and turtlenecks when outside and her wicked bum shorts when they were alone. How glorious that day felt when five months into their marriage, she showed him the result of the pregnancy test. She still wore her tight fitting outfits, she was still smashing hot, but the demeanor diminished with each passing trimester. Her cravings were unbelievable; if she wanted coffee, it had to be from the Colombian mountains and they had to be beans of a certain weight and harvested at a certain altitude. If she wanted chocolates, it had to be made from cocoa plucked at 5:15 in the morning in the south of Ghana. If it wasn’t catfish with three pairs of whiskers with the exact same length caught from the Ikogosi warm spring (an impossibility mind you), then the peppersoup was cyanide to her. Her demands became more unimaginable as her denims became more difficult to fit in. “Hurry up, Enyinnaya, aaaah!” she grunted in pain.

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Moremi and the other demigods had never even seen the mythical “Script” much less read it, so she found it difficult to believe the senseless killings going on in her precious Nigeria would eventually lead to any good. Her mind was made up, she would find another demigod who would join her and return to earth to prevent more massacres and the looming war. She knew it would be a difficult task as security measures to deter higher beings from going to earth were constantly being improved especially after the most recent incident when Hancock and a few other angels decided to use earth as a vacation spot and parade themselves as superheroes to the humans. She also knew, that what she was about to do was a risk worth taking and she would have no regrets even if non of the other demigods joined her and she got caught trying to return to earth. “Maybe its part of my role in ‘The Script’”, she thought to herself, “After all, I was once human”.

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